


breathe in, breathe out

by Kalgalen



Series: this home we built [5]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (no violence there's just Guns), Gen, Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: In which Jacobi's intel didn't give him all the details and Maxwell shows off the skills thataren'ton her resume.





	breathe in, breathe out

"...So that's it for the basics. Focus on your breathing, it's the one thing you can control to improve your aim. Your stance is important too, of course, but that’s harder to manage on the field when you're getting shot at."

He observes Maxwell as he says this, looking for signs of apprehension. Most newbies - the ones who've never been in the middle of a gunfight, at least - always look nervous at the idea of being shot at, with real bullets, by people who want them dead or at the very least seriously incapacitated.

But not Alana Maxwell. The doctor, who to his knowledge has never fired a gun in her life, is already eyeing the weapons with interest.

"Alright," she just says, "can I start with the rifle?"

Jacobi blinks, slightly taken aback by her uncharacteristically confident behavior. She's been working here for a few weeks now, and even though they got along from the start, there are still moments she cuts herself off and glances at him as if she expects him to comment on her lack of social graces - which he isn't about to do, given that out of the three of them she's the one who makes the most effort to look normal.

But the usual awkwardness is nowhere to be found now; if anything, she seems to be in her element, moving easily in the shooting range - exactly the way she moves in her lab: like nothing can surprise her, like she's in absolute control.

(In hindsight, Jacobi really should have started questioning his intel at that point.)

"Uh, okay," he says. "So, that's an air rifle - not very dangerous, and not at _all_ what we use on the field, but that'll give us an idea of how much we have to work on your aim. You load it like that-" he demonstrates as he talks, "pull the lever, put the pellet in, close it." He lifts the rifle and gets in position, the motion familiar as he aims down the sight not at the paper target, but at the box of medals screwed between their post and the next, used mostly for friendly competition - the smaller the medal you hit is, the more points you rake in. He smoothly pulls the trigger, and the medal in the middle of the box gives a satisfying 'ting!' as the pellet hits it. He puts the weapon down.

"Point and shoot. Simple as that."

Maxwell nods distractedly at the end of his explanation, her mind obviously already on the target. Her hand caresses the smooth wood of the rifle's stock like if it is an unfamiliar animal, and her fingers are quick and precise as she loads the weapon the way he showed her. She hesitates a second then, and takes her glasses off, folding them and placing them next to the box of pellets.

“You probably want to keep them,” Jacobi remarks. “The sight’s not a magnifying glass.”

“Oh, it’s alright, I don’t actually need them.” Maxwell smiles like she’s telling him a secret - and maybe she is. “My vision’s perfect. They’re more of a… souvenir.”

Jacobi spreads his hands in front of him - _do what you want_. Maxwell nods, once, and fishes five pellets out of the box to drop them back right beside it.

“It’s a good number for a test, right?” she asks, glancing at him, and he shrugs.

“Hey, as long as you manage to put at least one in the target…”

She smirks at that, but doesn’t comment and just focuses again on her evaluation.

Her body is loose when she places herself in front of the target, rocking back and forth on her feet to find the optimal position. Once she's happy with it, she brings the butt of the rifle up against her shoulder and puts her eye to the sights. She takes a deep breath, release a part of it; her index finger brushes tentatively against the trigger as she waits for the right moment.

Usually in training - when you don’t have to worry about getting hit before you can kill whoever’s shooting at you - it's best to only hold your breath for six seconds maximum; if you can't take the shot, if the target can't stay put in the middle of your sight, release your breath, take another one, try again. Count to six.

Maxwell shoots after two seconds.

Her lower body barely moves as she puts the rifle down, reload-aim-fire in a fluid succession Jacobi can only qualify of _mechanic_. She does it again, and again, three-four-five times, until she runs out of test-pellets.

Jacobi stares at Maxwell as she puts the weapon down after her final shot.

"Oo-kay," he says slowly. "Let's, uh. Let's see the results?"

He pushes the button to bring back the target, squinting to get an idea of her total as soon as he can make out the holes, but he has trouble believing what he's seeing until the square of cardboard is in his hands.

Four of the impacts are gathered in one tight cluster near the middle of the target; the stray pellet went a bit higher, but not by much.

"What the fuck" is all he can say as he looks at Maxwell. She shrugs, visibly struggling not to look too proud of herself.

"Two of my uncles were hunters," she explains. "When I was around thirteen, they said _"if you keep acting like a boy, we're gonna treat you like one"_ \- talked my parents into letting me accompany them, taught me how to shoot. I think they hoped it would scare me into being more _feminine_ , whatever that meant for them, but, well-" she grins. "I'm here, so I guess they failed."

"Uh," Jacobi says very eloquently. "I... can’t believe I didn't know that about you."

"I did," says a voice behind him, and Maxwell tenses up as her eyes jump to the newcomer. Jacobi just makes a face.

"Of course you did," he mutters under his breath before turning around. "Hey, Major," he says, injecting as much fake cheerfulness in his voice as he can get away with without being accused of disrespect. "Coming to check on your new minion?"

Kepler doesn't answer as he strolls over to them. He examines the target Jacobi is still holding, leaning excessively into his space - and that asshole _knows_ what he's doing, Jacobi's sure of it, but knowing he's being toyed with doesn't keep him from feeling flustered at the closeness.

"Nice job, Doctor!" Kepler says, and Maxwell shifts anxiously on her feet. "You can do better, but that's a good start. Hard to do worse than Jacobi, in any case."

"Hey!"

"It's alright," Maxwell says, deadpan. "If you're not the brain _or_ the brawn, you can be... well, not the sharpshooter, obviously, certainly not the pretty face..." She trails off, making a show of looking confused. "Uh. What does that leave you?"

"Hey!" he protests again. "I can at least be the pretty face!"

"Sure you can," says Maxwell, teasing.

"Sure he can," echoes Kepler, as serious as can be.

And this, Jacobi thinks, this is _unfair_ , he's supposed to appear professional - at least in the eyes of their new teammate - but it's turning out to be a pretty complicated task when Kepler is looming over him, warm and solid presence inches away-

Jacobi coughs and steps aside under the pretense of sending a fresh target across the range. Maxwell is looking at him funny, like she's trying to figure out a joke she's missed (hint: the joke is wearing his clothes) and he's sure Kepler is staring at him too, probably looking very pleased with himself, the smug bastard.

Jacobi clears his throat and, very carefully looking only at Maxwell, says:

"How about you try the gun now?"


End file.
